Part 4

Though trouble here us tries Jo! ’Tis blessing in disguise Jo! To mak’ us mair prize The land o’ the leal.

FAREWELL TO PERTH.

Adieu! pleasant Perth, all thy parts I admire, Thy domes, and rich buildings, in every fine street, Thy bridge, and thy churches, with each lofty spire, Tay’s meads, and green isles, make thy beauty complete.

Of old in thy bosom, though kings once resided, Thou’rt now even more splendid by commerce increas’d, With wise regulations, and rulers provided; Where arts are encouraged, and learning, and taste,

Though much has of late, for the poor been collected, Ye affluent, think still, what must many endure, Uncover’d from cold, & with want sore dejected, Your own cup being brimful, O! think of the poor.

So may your fine city, still more and more flourish, And trade spreading plenty, again soon return, With anxious remembrance, this wish I will cherish, When far distant from it, reluctantly borne,

Yes, I’ll think of thee Perth, not for thy gay splendor, But sweet were the times that in thee I have seen, The mem’ry of which will remain soft & tender, Tho’ ’twixt me & thee many miles intervene.

In some distant valley, by some pleasant fountain, Where linnets and larks warble sweet in the spring, While sound’s plaintive echo from rocks, grove, or mountain, Of Perth, when unseen, often sad I will sing.

=Song=,

IN ANSWER TO

“_O Nannie wilt thou gang wi’ me_.”

No! SANDIE, I will never gang, Ye’ll trudge through life alane for me, For aft’ a wife maun thole the wrang, And I sic scaith will never dree. I’ll busk mysel’ as neat’s I can, And claes becoming me will wear, Though ne’er admir’d by ony man, Or flatter’d, _fairest of the fair_.

When far awa frae kith and kin, I’d cast a look behind, I ween, For you to change might soon begin, And dwinin’ fondness die wi spleen. Puir Nannie’s tender form would sink, If bound your cauld-rife looks to bear, Just now’s the time for her to think, Though flatter’d, _fairest of the fair_.

Weak woman can misfortunes brave, To man in straits is aft’ a frien’-- That’s right, a friend, but not a slave! ’Twere silly to descend so mean. Some clowns in health do women scorn, But aye in sickness claim their care; Sic deem our sex their servants born, We spurn the thought baith brown and fair.

Yet should you wi’ mischanters meet, And under pain or poortith bow, I’m no sae fu’ o’ deadly hate, But I would help to succour you. Your grave I dinna wish to see, Nor strew, nor gather flowers there; Live if you can to bury me, Ance flatter’d, _fairest of the fair_.

EVENING REFLECTIONS.

While musing upon many a change, Reflecting thought inclines Present ideas, to arrange In these few simple lines;

Which unremember’d will decay, No higher is their aim,-- The liker to their author they, Who’ll shortly do the same.

But why one sigh at being forgot?-- A maid more fair and gay Perhaps has trode this peaceful spot, Whose very name’s away:--

Who in this lower world did share, Like me, its joy and grief; But from misfortune, pain, and care, Hath lung since found relief.

Let fancy for a moment wait, To view that fair unknown; More early she, and I more late, Have wander’d here alone.

What! though imagination paints Her but of mean estate; Her views when humble, few her wants, Nor wishing to be great.

Why such a wish? for now her bones As peacefully do rest As theirs, who once fill’d regal thrones, Or Indian mines possess’d.

Perfection in this lower state, ’Bove mortal reach we see, But serious minds, humane, and sweet, Are found in each degree.

And wheresoever these appear, In high or low, they still A heavenly origin declare, And shine most beautiful.

Shine, not with ostentation’s blaze, Th’ applauding eye to lure; Their actions court not empty praise, But flow from motives pure.

This conduct is a scene of peace, Free from discordant noise; And such a character might grace The sister of my choice.

Though nat’rally to sadness bent, Yet soft, sedate, and mild: She with the mourful did lament-- She with the cheerful smil’d.

Such meek and placid innocence, Pure seraphs would respect; But ’mong this globe’s inhabitants, It only found neglect.

Not mention’d by the mouth of fame, Nor by reproach assail’d; From both, her inoffensive frame, The grave completely veil’d.

Ah! friendly fair! whose dust so small, With mine may soon be mix’d: She’s only fall’n, and I must fall-- The sure decree is fix’d.

Since life’s so short, and death so sure; So transient every joy: Let us that real good secure, Which death cannot destroy.

FINIS.

Transcriber’s Notes:

Obvious printers’, punctuation and spelling errors have been corrected silently.